


The Moment to Live and the Moment to Die.

by NeyMessi_FCB (Sherlockophobia)



Category: Marvel (Movies)
Genre: 1970s, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1960s, Alternate Universe - Vietnam, Alternate Universe - War, Drug Use, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-21 06:12:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1540568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlockophobia/pseuds/NeyMessi_FCB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark, son of notorious titan Howard Stark and heir to Stark Industries - one of the leading businesses in weaponry - has volunteered to fight in the Vietnam war in 1966. He meets a young anti-war protester from England who made it to Vietnam to participate in movements to end the war and quickly ends up smitten for the younger lad named Loki Laufeyson. The two find themselves in love in a peace deprived world with only each other while death and war rages on around them. Homophobia is rampant and if caught, Tony would be dishonorably discharged and have to face what would come to him from his father and his country. Is all really fair in love and war?</p><p> </p><p>  <i>A warning to the people, the good and the evil, this is war.</i><br/>To the soldier, the civilian, the martyr, the victim, this is war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Moment to Live and the Moment to Die.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello readers, I would like to apologise for this starting chapter being ridiculously short. I quit writing it because it is currently 5:46am and sleep is calling me into its relaxing serenity. I will pick back up tomorrow and continue this and hopefully have something you guys would like. There isn't really much I can say aside from what is in the summary and in the warnings and tags, so I hope you at least skimmed over them. 
> 
> Certain terms are from the era, so if you need clarification, you have Google at your disposal.
> 
> I do not entirely support the idea of war and the characters featured outside of filler characters are owned by Marvel.

He had been out on the battlefield for at least a year and nothing was changing, nothing was getting better, and worst of all - no one was winning. He was almost positive he would have been drafted if he didn't sign up, being as healthy and strong as he was. Being the son of one of the richest men in your country would have provided a chance of escape, but at what cost? Perfectly good men were forced to fight and he wasn't about to run and hide behind billions of dollars just because he could; hardly anyone got that opportunity, so why should he take it? He may have been an asshole back at home, but out here, he was a completely different man. There is something about war - maybe the way it strips you from everything you hold dear - that changes you to where you have to adapt every single bit of you in order to survive. There was no room for harsh words, no room for pretending to be better than others, and no room to treat your fellow man poorly. They were all out there fighting for one cause in particular - ending communism - so you had to work together to keep from being shot, or worse, getting your fellow man shot. Granted, it was a bit terrible to end a life and the rush you get is not welcome, but you did what you had to. No one out here would look at you differently. Some turned their heads as an enemy fell while others looked on with a smile. He preferred to look over them, almost as if looking into a new world, one without blood and death. It wasn't fun to hold someone's life in your hands and be the decision maker when it came to if they should die or survive, and usually the former was what the men had to choose. You don't get a choice out here, to be honest, it is either killed, or be killed.

"Stark! Stop daydreaming and get over here, we need you for a raid," Captain Carter called out to him, bringing Anthony out of his thoughts.

Great, another raid - what will it be this time? About a month ago on the last one they went out on, they had to take the lives of innocents who were protecting some enemy soldiers and the American government covered that up pretty quick. He read the paper sent to him by his mother, Maria. They said that the people at the front killed a bunch of Vietnamese soldiers in an unprecedented attack. Tony never read past the headline because he was forced to kill people who didn't deserve to die. He took four men's lives as he could not kill the women; there were a total of ten deaths. It was a disgusting act, but he had no other choice because if he went against orders, he would be labelled a traitor and likely executed. In order to stop dwelling on the past and to get the screams out of his head, he walked over to the Captain, standing beside him as he looked at the sun going down behind a hill. He listened to the details of the mission and almost visibly sighed in relief when it was an actual justifiable attack. The Nammers had advanced a bit too close for comfort and were planning a night time ambush of the platoon he was in, planning on taking the ones alive as prisoners of war. They set up camp just on the other side of the second hill, which really seemed to make Carter wig out. Tony nodded as he was told he had to follow behind lieutenant Andrews who was going to lead the raid and to back him up at any cost. We do not lose Andrews. 

They were to be launching the attack in less than an hour and the first thought Tony had was that he needed to survive this because the rations were coming in tomorrow. He learnt very quickly that if you didn't get there quick enough when the rations were delivered, you either went hungry or got the scraps left over from the other men. He was pretty good at getting there with the first round of soldiers to have a good choice at the food - which was normally some canned meat and some water if they were lucky. Sometimes, if home was being nice, they'd be sent hot meals. They were feeding thousands of men, so he could give them that, but it would have been nice to fill his stomach up once in a while; you got what you got. An ingrained "yes, sir" left Tony's mouth as Carter finished speaking and left to go do something else. He let out a heavy sigh and decided to try to catch a nap before they had to go. He turned himself over to his tent and slowly walked over while fatigue set in. He knew his nap wouldn't be long and hardly rejuvenating, but it provided him with somewhat of an escape, even though his dreams were plagued with the nightmares of war. He crouched down as he went under the green material that represented current sleeping quarters as barracks were not an option in the midst of battle. He inhaled deeply, exhaled, and crawled into his sleeping space, resting his head on an almost rock-hard pillow. It provided little comfort as he was sleeping without a mattress and on dirt, but he learnt to fall asleep rather quickly.

It was nearly forty minutes later when someone approached his tent to rouse him from sleep, earning a grunt and a mutter from the private who was getting out of his rest cycle. He slowly sat up, rubbed at his face with dirty palms, and left his rather warm tent. He staggered in step for a moment before he got grip of balance, nodding to whoever woke him up, and gazed around the camp, bleary-eyed, while he yawned. Nothing had changed, so he didn't have to worry or panic, which could have made any man happy. Tony grabbed his gun which rest against a tree near his tent and slung it over his shoulder, walking over to LT. Andrews who was discussing with Captain Carter on what the men had to do. Andrews gave him a curt nod that Tony quickly returned as he approached. He quickly went back to his plans in which Tony got bored listening to and decided on going to see what LCP Pym was up to. Henry, or Hank as everyone else called him, was in the middle of shining his boots when Stark got over to him. He glanced up, but went back to work, so the Private sat next to him. He watched him shine his right boot, rubbing a ragged cloth over the toe, digging his fingers in as he attempted to eliminate the dirt that was caked onto the sides. He stared on in silence, occasionally pushing his foot into the dirt out of habit. 

"So, are you going on the raid, Hank?" Tony asked almost sardonically, looking down at the small rut he had dug with his boot. 

"Yep, though I'm not sure why I am trying to clean my shoes as it is just going to get dirty again the second I step in the mud. I swear, this tropical bullshit is getting on my last nerve," His response was somewhat amused, but Tony understood the annoyance.

He nodded in agreement, glad he was able to make friends with the blond haired giant. The man had to be at least six foot two and was loaded with muscle, which the military seemed to adore. Always get your best men in there no matter what. Pym, Andrews, and SFC Howlett were some of the toughest guys they had out there. Stark wasn't bad himself, but he was somewhat on the short side and considered weak by the ones who hated his rich boy status back home. He couldn't blame them, though, because a lot of the men out here were raised on a farm or in the slums where no one so much as batted a lash at a starving child. He looked up as orders for the raid were being given out, causing him to stand up, make way to his tent, grab his helmet, and fall into step behind LT. Andrews. Hank was about two steps behind him, nudging him in the back with his elbow while Tony slipped the helmet on over his head and strapped it around his chin. He glanced back with a half-hearted glare, staring at Pym who had a playful smirk on his face. This was not the time nor place for games as everything had to fall serious if they were going to carry this mission out successfully. Their normal marching was not present due to the fact that the point was to ambush the ambush and not make it seem like there were hundreds of soliders when there were only thirty. About five steps in, his boot squished into some wet mud, causing him to cringe, though he knew it was inevitable. Nothing but the best for Vietnam.

They made it over the first hill with in minutes and crouched in some tall grass at the foot of the second one, waiting to see how Andrews would procceed with this. After a few hand signals and pointing upward, they slowly and quietly made their way up the hill, spreading out some so they could have a wide advantage. Tony remained behind Andrews and Pym was about three feet away, bringing his gun around so he could use it. Tony mimicked him and prepared himself for the task ahead right as they cleared the half way mark. At the top, they crouched once more while Andrews surveyed the enemy camp before turning and flashing his hands twice, indicating there were twenty men. Everyone nodded and Andrews went further onto the top of the hill with Tony right behind him, aimed, and fired, hitting the back of the head of a 'Nam who was walking toward his tent. The ruckus arose the sleeping men, but the group was already descending quickly and raining bullets down on the enemy. One of Stark's own went through a guy's head, and while he dropped, he stared up over him for a moment until he went behind Andrews again. Screaming and orders were being yelled left and right and Stark swore some of the pained cries were from their own men. He inhaled sharply, which proved to be a bad idea, as smoke from a gun went into his nostrils and burnt them. He cringed and shook it off, pushing forward and firing at will per order of the Lieutenant. 

He kept shooting whatever shadow he saw, watching the bodies collapse into the dirt as he looked over him. Andrews had taken down at least five men - Tony had been counting, and at last, it was finished. The Vietnamese ambush party were dead because they didn't have the sense to fall back and the Americans had their guns up in the air, cheering at another victory. His side was suddenly jabbed and the words "Good job, Private," entered his ears, so he turned his head to look over at who had said it. He smiled to himself as he watched Hank walk off, so he shoved his gun up in the air and whooped along with the other men. As he looked around the area, he only noticed the outlines of twenty-eight men, causing him to almost gasp in grief. There were no cries of pain, so either the other two were dead or severely injured. Three of the soldiers were walking around, checking the bodies to see which ones were ours, hoping to locate the two that were not standing. Tony was about to go help when the Lieutenant approached, slapping his hand down on his shoulder. Andrews smiled and told him to go back to camp along with a few others to tell the Captain that they were successful. Tony responded with a "yes sir" and headed back up the hill, carefully walking around the bodies and scrunching up his nose while the stench of blood hit it. He wasn't sure he would ever get used to that smell.

When they got back and made their status report, Tony walked over to a chair and sat down, staring off into the distance as he awaited the return of the other soldiers. He needed to know the status of the fallen. It was around thirty minutes later when they came marching over, one lad in the arms of the Lieutenant and another in the arms of a private first class. They were definitely unresponsive and as the PFC moved past Stark on his way to the medical tent, he could see a bullet had pierced his shoulder and chest. In his quick glimpse he didn't see the rise and fall of his chest, but he didn't want to make any assumptions because he wasn't able to look long enough. He got up, the metal chair creaking a bit, cracked his back in a stretch, and followed the LT and PFC into the tent. He stood by the entrance as the men were laid onto beds, watched as nurses began to crowd them, then almost let out a whimper when they moved away from the one who the PFC brought in. Dead. He would be sent home, given a military funeral, and the world would move on. The war wouldn't stop just for him. The mother would be given the flag folded into a triangle because he looked too young to have been married - barely eighteen - and he would be placed into the ground for the rest of eternity. It was the price you had to pay for freedom.

Tony ducked out of the tent with a heavy heart, waiting outside to see if Andrews would come out or if Carter would go in, but Carter was busy talking with other men and it didn't seem like the Lieutenant would be showing up any time soon. It seemed as if Carter had instructed everyone who fought to retire to their tents, but Stark knew he wouldn't be able to sleep properly. Upon reaching Carter with the plan of asking for a second task, he saw a hand extended out to him. Tony arched an eyebrow, but took it anyway, and shook hands with one of his superiors. He swallowed hard and tilted his head up to make eye contact, seeing nothing but pride in the man's haunting grey eyes. It was almost mesmerising, but he pulled himself away from staring, breaking the eye contact and releasing his hand. They stood in silence for a while while Carter stared over him at the medical tent, more than likely wanting to know what had happened to his men. Suddenly, a loud howl of grief ripped through the camp, followed by a man charging into the tent as fast as he could, as well as a clank from a pot lid echoing from being dropped to the earth. Tony gasped and Carter patted him on the back as he left to go see what was going down. As much as Stark wanted to know who the guy was that ran in, he knew there would be too much happening for him to be in there. He assumed he was either a close friend or a brother of the deceased because of the way he reacted and the fact that Carter was pulling him out of the tent. The man collapsed against the Captain who was holding him up the best he could, trying to help him through the pain.

Stark sighed and walked over to his tent, crawling inside, zipping it up, and stared up at the top of the fabric, trying to block out the rather audible cries from the man who had lost someone close to him. Tony had been an only child and only had one friend who was back at home, safe and sound, so he didn't know how he could relate with such a devestating loss. He eventually laid back onto his pillow, though went back to staring at the tent through the dark, working on focusing on memories of home. He had missed his old lady and the way she would always cook his favourite meal three times a month, filling the house with the smell of baked potatoes and grilled salmon. Even though they had at least three chefs, she still fancied to cook a lot of the meals, especially for her son. He took off his helmet and tossed it off to the side before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a picture of his mother. He smiled back as she seemed to grin up at him, holding a toddler version of him in his arms. Tony turned the picture over and ran his thumb across her writing, which read "Maria Stark with Tony, 1946,". That photo was taken a little over a year after Howard had returned from service over in Germany after the second World War. Who knew that twenty-two years later, Anthony Stark would be fighting in a war to end communism. Maria hadn't wanted him to go and nearly begged on her knees for him to stay, telling him how Howard would make it so he didn't have to enlist and wouldn't be drafted, but he comforted her by telling her he would return with his head held high and victory in his eyes. That seemed a far cry from the truth now.


End file.
